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Simon remembered art classes from when he was a child, how each year they would make cards to give to their fathers on Father's Day to show their love and appreciation — colourful craft paper with stickers and hearts glued on, finished with simple yet supposedly heartfelt signs. The other kids would excitedly talk about their plans for the day and the kind of presents they had prepared for the head of the family with the help of their siblings and the other parent.
He had always hated those classes. The cards he made would end up in the trash the moment he left the school gates, the sweet and entirely fake words on the card making him feel ill — and sad, sometimes even angry. He had made the mistake of giving his father a card once, but he had learned fast. His father, the violent bastard, didn't deserve any love and appreciation.
Father's Day had been nothing but an ordinary day in their household, his father just as drunk and volatile as usual. Eventually Simon had learned to ignore the significance of the day, to stop longing for what he had never had and would never have. It had stopped hurting.
Now though, years had passed and everything had changed — and Simon was freaking out. They no longer made cards at school, barely mentioned the day, and even with the numerous ads and sales all over the papers and the telly, Simon had forgotten.
His chest constricted at the realisation, sudden dread crawling up his spine as he stared into the kitchen where John was making them breakfast.
"Good morning, kiddo," John greeted him with a warm smile when he noticed him. "Breakfast is almost ready, would you mind grabbing us a few plates?"
Simon opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out. He didn't know what to say, frozen to the spot as his brain debated the merits of fight or flight mode.
Would John be mad?
What if he thought Simon was nothing but an ungrateful brat?
"Simon?"
Simon twitched at the voice, his eyes wide as he looked back at John and saw the confusion and concern on his face. He forced himself to draw in a breath.
Plates. John had asked for plates.
"S—Sorry, I'll get the plates," Simon said, and miraculously his feet carried him all the way to the cabinet by the sink. His hands trembled, but he ignored it as he took out two plain white plates and shuffled them over to John.
"Did you sleep okay?"
Simon counted it as a win when he didn't flinch at the question. "I slept alright. You?"
He could feel John's eyes on him when he moved to pour himself a glass of juice — anything to keep his hands busy — but didn't raise his head to meet his gaze. He hardly heard his response.
He really needed to figure out something before John realised the truth.
"What'd you say if we went to the cinema today? I know you've been talking about that new superhero film that premiered a little while back."
Simon looked up at that, dread momentarily giving way to surprise and confusion. "Really? W—why?"
"I thought it might be fun." John shrugged nonchalantly, lifting up the pan to fill the plates with eggs and bacon.
"But it's Father's Day."
This time it was John who paused. "Yes?"
"You're not a fan of superhero films," Simon pointed out, flailing internally. He put his drink down on the counter before he accidentally spilled it, wringing his hands together nervously. "And it's Father's Day."
John frowned, as though he didn't quite understand what Simon's point was.
"I—I forgot. That it's Father's Day," Simon admitted, and suddenly his heart was in his throat. "I forgot. I don't have anything for you."
Simon didn't know why he was scared. A reminder of the day only ever made his father angrier, considering he thought he and Tommy were the biggest mistakes of his life, so why was he worried that John would be mad at him for forgetting?
"Simon..."
"I promise I—" The rest of the words never made it out when John stepped towards him and ever so carefully reached out to cup the side of his face. Simon fell perfectly still.
"Simon, it's okay," he told him, "I didn't expect you to have anything for me."
The words felt like a punch to the gut, forcing the air from his lungs as Simon felt the tell-tale burn of tears behind his eyes.
John had expected him to forget. To be bad.
"I—" Simon's voice cracked. "I didn't mean to be ungrateful, I promise! I just— I forgot, we never celebrated Father's Day at home, he would just get so mad and I didn't think—" excuses, they were all excuses, he should've been better —"I'm sorry."
"Hey, hey, take a deep breath, Simon," John hushed him, and Simon didn't understand why he was being nice and gentle instead of shouting at him. "You haven't done anything wrong. We don't need to— It's not something we need to..."
John trailed off with a frown, brushing his thumb over Simon's cheek to wipe away his tears, and Simon's eyes flickered shut.
"I took you in because I wanted to provide you a safe place to grow up in, with safe adults around," John began after the silence had stretched on for what felt like an eternity, only broken by Simon's quiet sniffles. "I knew— I never expected— Shit, kiddo, I don't know how to say this, but you don't need to feel like this is something you have to do, okay? This... father thing.
"You don't have to see or think of me as your dad just because I am your adoptive father on paper, I know that's not how it works," John paused to take a deep, shaky breath that had a slight wet quality to it. "I won't love you any less for it, alright? You're like a son to me, and I just want you to be happy."
"I'm sorry!" Simon threw his arms around John with a barely contained sob, clinging to him as the weight of the words sunk in. John didn't hesitate to hug him back. "Please don't be sad."
John let out a wet laugh, pressing a kiss to the crown of Simon's head. "It's okay, kiddo. I promise."
"No, it's not. I wanted to— I always wanted a dad." Simon shook his head, the words muffled by John's shirt. His voice wavered and broke, but he had gotten everything so wrong and he needed John to know he hadn't meant it. "The kind that didn't shout, or— or get drunk and hurt you. The kind you saw on the telly, the nice ones that hugged their kids and helped them with their homework. Like—like you."
Saying those words out loud, voicing the thoughts he had fought so hard to quiet in fear of it all turning out to be an act — in fear of being rejected —, made Simon feel equal amounts terrified and relieved. It made him feel less heavy.
"I wish I could've made you a card." He sniffled, leaning his head back to look at John through teary eyes. "It'd have been the first time I actually meant everything in it."
John's eyes were shiny with unshed tears, but his smile was so warm and full of love and he pulled Simon back into the hug, enveloping him in his arms as he placed another kiss in Simon's hair.
"You're a good kid, Simon," John murmured. "I don't need a card to prove that to me, but hearing you say that... it might just be the best Father's Day gift I could've ever hoped for."
There was nothing Simon could say to that without another round of ugly sobbing, so he hugged him back just as fiercely and let the steady thrum of John's heartbeat calm him down.
John wasn't mad.
John loved him.
Simon had been so stupidly afraid, so worried, all for nothing. John loved him, told him he was like a son to him, and he couldn't even begin to put how that made him feel like into words.
He finally had a dad. A real dad.
"I love you," Simon whispered. "Dad.”